


Crown of Thorns

by quartzguts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief self harm, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, awful, pure awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzguts/pseuds/quartzguts
Summary: Ready to fulfill his destiny, Noctis wakes from his long sleep.His long,longsleep.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Noctis Lucis Caelum, past noctis/lunafreya
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	Crown of Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buttercuup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercuup/gifts).



From the moment Noctis wakes up, he knows something is wrong.

Instead of popping back into existence in Zegnautus Keep, right where he last stood, Noctis finds himself facing down stone walls dripping with water and covered in grime. His joints pop and ache as he stands. It feels as if he’s been asleep for eons. A faint barking draws him out of the deeper parts of the cave, towards the entrance. He’s thankful. It’s so dark he’d never have been able to see where the gap in the stone was without something guiding him.

His first view of Eos in Bahamut knows how long is of the sky. Noctis frowns when he sees the stars aren’t out tonight; there’s a thick haze hanging low over the horizon. Black ash flutters around like butterflies, twisting through the wind, but Noctis can’t smell any smoke in the air. He climbs out of the cave, searching for the furry black form of his favorite messenger-dog, but the only things he finds are more rock and dead grass.

A quick glance around him confirms he’s on Angelgard. He grimaces, remembering the splitting headache and violent aura he’d been subjected to the one time Gladio made the mistake of steering too close to the island. There’s none of that now, though; no angry god telling him the time isn’t right yet, no gulls crying in the distance. Even the sea is silent and calm, a blanket of gray covering the space between here and Galdin Quay.

It looks almost dead.

A shiver runs down Noctis’s spine. He takes his next few steps with caution, the faint form of the engine blade settling in his grip. Despite his bad feeling, no daemons pop out of the dark to strike at him. They must be barred from here, since Angelgard is technically a holy place. It feels like anything but.

At the edge of the island, Noctis finds a sailboat. Old and rickety, it would usually be his last choice of transportation, especially since there’s no wind to sail on. Lacking any other choice, he climbs aboard and grabs the ropes.

Someone must be looking out for him—it’s probably Bahamut, but Noctis likes to believe it’s his dad or Luna—because a breeze picks up the moment he’s settled. He doesn’t have to do anything as the boat slowly glides towards the shore. The wind only ruffles his hair and the sails; the ocean doesn’t move at all, save for the ripples created by the boat’s movement.

It’s cold. Noctis shivers, clutching the folds of his jacket. He reassures himself it’ll be warmer at the Quay, where there’ll be a fire and a hot meal waiting for him. Maybe Iggy will be there, and Noctis can help him cook, as an apology for not stepping up to support him sooner. He shuts his eyes, imagining it; apologizing to Ignis for being so distant, to Gladio for being a brat, to Prompto for acting coldly. He wants to put it all to rest before he goes to face Ardyn, so he can die in peace. So he’ll know the guys will be okay without him.

He opens his eyes again when the boat has gotten close enough to the Quay for him to feel the difference in the air. Shockingly, it’s colder here than it was around Angelgard. Noctis’s heart drops into his stomach when he sees Galdin.

It’s gone.

<><><>

He chalks up the rotting wood and rubble laying where Galdin once was to the daemons. No doubt the nights continued to get longer after he disappeared; Galdin isn’t a particularly defensible area, surrounded by wilderness and mountains. It’d be an all you can eat buffet for red giants and mindflayers. It makes sense for people to abandon the Quay and move up north, to the flat, open desert, or to the western mountains, where you could easily spot a daemon approaching from all sides.

He’ll meet up with Coctura and Dino further up into Leide, Noctis is sure of it. Maybe at Longwythe. Or Hammerhead.

When he makes it all the way up the road and through the narrow mountain pass without seeing a single sign of life, he begins to doubt.

<><><>

Noctis isn’t sure how long he walks for. The sky hasn’t changed much since he woke, still the same gray, hazy color as before. Without seeing the moon’s position, it’s impossible to tell when the sun will rise. Noctis keeps moving until he starts stumbling, before finally crashing on the side of the road for a break.

His feet are bloodied, and need bandages before they get any worse. The first aid kit in the Armiger is packed as always, no doubt the result of Ignis’s diligent work. Noctis stretches his legs out and lays on the rock, trying to get some rest without letting down his guard.

The complete and utter _silence_ is starting to unnerve him. So far, he not only hasn’t seen any living thing, but hasn’t heard anything, either. No trodding of hooves, no bird calls. Not even the buzzing of insects. It’s like the entire world is playing a practical joke on him. Come on, everyone! Let’s all hide from Noctis when he wakes up! It’ll be fun!

“It’s just winter,” Noctis mutters to himself. His own words sound like thunder in the absence of all other sound. “That’s why it’s cold, too. Everything is just hibernating.”

But if it’s winter, that means he was asleep for months. His beard would seem to confirm that. Noctis doesn’t want to consider the possibility that he’s left Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto worrying for that long, though, so he rolls over and tries to shut out the thoughts. If the daemons aren’t biting tonight, he might as well get some shut eye. A bit of rest will help ease his rattled mind.

<><><>

Prompto used to say “sweet dreams” every night before bed. No matter where they were or how late it was, he would always remember to say it. It never helped with Noctis’s nightmares—about the Marilith, about Insomnia, about the crown weighing heavy on his brow—but it helped to know someone was worrying about him, and made it easier to fall back asleep each time he awoke in a cold sweat.

He wishes Prompto had been there to tell him sweet dreams this time around. Noctis wakes up in a fit of panic, gasping for air and clutching his chest, trying to escape the grip of his nightmare. Already the images are beginning to fade, but the fear is still present, lurking at the corners of his mind. Noctis whines and sits up, trying to ignore the way his body hurts from lying down on the rocks.

The first thing he notices is that the sky is still black, and the clouds haven’t moved at all. In fact, it doesn’t look like anything has changed since he fell asleep. The desert is just as quiet and still as it had been before.

Noctis swallows, his throat uncomfortably dry, and starts to walk again. The sensation of eyes on his back raises the hair on his arms, makes him peer around for anyone or anything.

He thinks he sees two dots of light in the dark, like the glossy eyes of a sabertusk, but then he blinks, and they’re gone.

<><><>

Over the next few hours (he guesses; without a watch he doesn’t have a way to gauge how much time is passing) Noctis tries to get in contact with the guys. His phone is dead when he pulls it out of the Armiger. He sighs a little when he sees the screen is cracked, too, little spiderwebs clawing out from the corners. At some point, the case was removed. Whatever. He can always just get a new one.

After that plan fails, he roots around for a piece of paper and a pen. They do that sometimes, to communicate. Someone puts a note into the Armiger, and the other person removes it and writes down their reply. It’s useful when they get separated in dungeons, where cell service is spotty at best. They always keep a pad on hand, just in case.

Which is why Noctis freezes when he can’t find any.

That in and of itself shouldn’t be a huge deal. He, Gladio, and Prompto are messy people by nature; Ignis’s constant sorting can’t combat the chaos of the Armiger. They probably just misplaced it somewhere. Noctis will find it if he just keeps looking.

He roots around for half an hour before giving up. The Armiger is filled with stuff—old clothes and weapons, mostly. The disconcerting thing is that it’s organized, and mostly his stuff. It _does_ make sense—Ignis probably decided to store all of his things there until he came back—but the way everything is perfectly sorted and catalogued makes him shift uncomfortably. It doesn’t feel like his stuff. Noctis shifts things around until it’s sufficiently messy, and hopes Ignis will notice the difference.

He also finds, to his surprise and slight dread, Prompto’s camera, Gladio’s favorite book, and one of Ignis’s daggers. The first two are not typically carried in the Armiger, and the last is strange to see without its mate. When Noctis tries the camera, it fails to turn on. Opening the back reveals there are no batteries inside. Noctis gently places the camera back in the Armiger, on top of a pile of t-shirts.

The book is marked with a dog eared page, which has Noctis’s brows furrowing. Gladio hates folding the corners. He opens it to the marked page, and finds a circled passage;

_But Crocus could not accept what her Queen was saying. She spoke to her with all her heart, imploring: “My Love, have I not served you well? Have I not followed you through the plains, the mountains, the cities; through the depths of the earth and the heights of heaven? I am your Shield, My Lady. You cannot send me away; I shall not allow it.”_

_The Queen turned away, a single tear wetting her black lashes. “As you say. Be my armor, then, and be with me always._

_Crocus cannot stop the smile that blossoms on her face, like flowers in spring. “Always.”_

Noctis shifts uncomfortably, and closes the book.

Ignis’s blade is dull and unpolished, flecked with bits of dried scourge and blood. Noctis first thinks it's unlike Ignis to be so untidy, then that he might not care anymore since he can’t see the blade— _then_ he thinks, guiltily, that just because Ignis is blind doesn’t mean he’s lost his meticulous standards.

Noctis vanishes the items away, ignores the foreboding feeling in his gut, and keeps going.

<><><>

Longwythe is deserted. Some of the structures remain—the base of the water tower, the metal framework of road signs—but the buildings are in various states of decay, and the road is cracked and ruined. Noctis finds a few signs of human life—a torn t-shirt, a decomposing shoe, a plastic bottle buried in the gray sand—but no people. No animals, either. When he looks out towards the rocks, he realizes, coldly, that he also hasn’t seen any plants. The landscape is completely flat, void of the shrubs and grasses that usually dot the desert.

“I’ll find them at Hammerhead,” Noctis says to himself. He thinks he hears a bitter laugh somewhere behind him, but when he turns his head to look, there’s no one there.

<><><>

They aren’t at Hammerhead, either. The entire outpost has been reduced to a pile of rubble. Bits of metal stretch out towards the sky like an arachne’s legs. The shark that once perched on top of Takka’s diner lies rusted among the rubble, its propeller wings cracked and streaked with dirt. The sun still hasn’t risen.

Noctis falls to his knees, and sleeps. This time, he doesn’t dream.

<><><>

He spends the next three days in Hammerhead. At least, he thinks it’s three days; the sun doesn’t rise in all that time. While he waits, Noctis struggles to decide what to do. He feels pathetic; a king should be able to make a decision, to choose a direction to go and begin walking. Noctis has no excuse for his indecisiveness. He can only admit that deep in his heart he’s afraid. Afraid that the moment he leaves Hammerhead, the guys will return there. Afraid if he heads west, they’ll be going east. In his mind’s eye, he sees his beloved friends walking away from him no matter which direction he goes. It’s a maddening cycle that keeps him circling back to the pile of rubble whenever he finds the courage to walk away.

He thinks he might be losing his mind; the silence is deafening, and though Noctis was terrified to make any sound at all the first day, he starts talking to himself on the second and outright screaming on the third. It’s so cold, and lonely. The pit of helpless dread grows larger in his stomach with each passing moment. Noctis tries not to give in, but it’s so easy to fall into despair when he has nothing to distract him.

At this point, he knows. Even without leaving, without exploring the rest of Lucis, he knows what’s happened. He just doesn’t want to face it yet.

After one week of waiting, he claws up what remains of his courage, and sets out anyway. As much as he wants to, he can't spend forever searching through this upside-down world, trying to find the people he loves. He doesn't have the time. There's a Usurper to kill, a scourge to destroy.

A city to rebuild.

<><><>

Insomnia is worse than Noctis expected. Most of the buildings have long since collapsed, reduced to piles of twisted metal and shattered glass. The feeling in his gut is a mixture of intense despair, guilt, and regret; the city he was born in, grew up in, ruined. And for what? To save his own life? Was he ever worth such a sacrifice?

Could he ever make up for the tragedies caused in his name?

“Don’t think like that,” Noctis chides himself. “Ardyn comes first.”

“Does he now? Still putting the people you ‘love’ on the back burner, huh, Noct?”

“Gladio!” Noctis turns to the direction of his voice, but doesn’t see anything. It’s just the same, empty world he’s faced ever since he woke up. “Hey, Gladdy! Where are you?”

“This way, Your Highness,” Ignis calls out, and Noctis breaks into a sprint.

He hasn’t rested in ages at this point—his lungs are burning, his eyelids heavy, but Noctis can’t stop now, not when his heart has leapt into his throat and he can feel the weight of a sob bubbling up around it. Suddenly all the apathy, all the dread, all the horrible thoughts he keeps having about what happened while he was gone, thoughts he has to keep forcing down again and again and again—it all goes silent as Ignis calls to him. His feet hit the pavement like lightning against the ground, the sound thunderous as he jumps over the ruins of his home. When Prompto and Gladio’s voices join the call, Noctis forces himself to move even faster.

They lead him to the Citadel. It’s the only structure he’s seen so far that’s more or less in tact; there’s damage, probably from the invasion, but as a whole it’s still the same monolith that has plagued Noctis’s nightmares for years.

The stairs are stained a brownish red. The voices fade as Noctis races up them; soon, the only sounds are his haggard breaths as he struggles to take in enough oxygen.

His bad knee gives out just before he can reach the entrance. Noctis curses himself, then crawls up on his elbows and struggles forward. The blood rushing in his ears is so loud he can scarcely hear the approaching footsteps.

“Your friends bring you here?” a mocking voice says. It’s a wicked mimicry of the conversation they’d had so long ago, when the world was still bright. Still full of sun. “I’m afraid you’re out of _time.”_

Noctis’s blood runs ice cold. He can’t slow his breathing. “Where are they? What did you do to them? _What did you do?!”_

“Who, little ol’ me? This is nothing _I_ did. This, dear Noctis, is all you!” Ardyn steps into his vision. The Chancellor is the same as always, immaculately groomed yet also an abject mess, and when Noctis meets his eyes, they glow. “You’ve been asleep for quite a long time.”

Noctis hates him. He hates Ardyn Izunia—Ardyn _Lucis Caelum_ —more fiercely than he’s ever hated anything before. It was Ardyn’s voice that ordered the death of his father, Ardyn’s hand that killed the woman he loved, Ardyn’s schemes that blinded Ignis—

Ardyn, who caused _all_ of this—!

His attempt to summon a weapon fails when a blade pierces his own hand, pinning it to the ground. Noctis screams, his voice scratchy from the lack of water. The pain is the only thing that cuts through the white noise, his own blood the only thing that has warmth, and the fact that it’s _Ardyn_ providing this clarity makes Noctis hate him even more.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty.” Ardyn bows, gives him a wicked grin, and kicks him in the head. The last thing Noctis sees is his eyes shining in the dark, like two suns in the void of space.

<><><>

The first thing Noctis notices upon waking, before he even opens his eyes, is the smell. It’s his dad’s cologne, etched into the duvet pressed against his cheek. Noctis’s sleep-addled mind decides he must have wandered into his dad’s room at some point during the night, probably after a bad dream. He smiles and nuzzles further into the blankets, content to lay there for a little while longer.

Then he frowns. He’s too old to go to his dad when he has nightmares. Right? And that’s not the only problem. The room is colder than Noctis remembers. A gust of wind blows over him, as if the window has been left open. Noctis grimaces as a few particles of dust settle on him.

Dust, or… or _sand._

It hits him like a freight train; the fall of Insomnia, his father’s death. Luna’s heart, Ignis’s eyes. The _Crystal—_

Ardyn.

Noctis kicks the blankets off with a frantic sort of energy. He’s still dressed in his old, grimy clothes. The bed is no better; it’s half destroyed, the mattress crumbling into dust as what remains of the bedframe splinters. At first, Noctis doesn’t recognize the room as his father’s. A massive part of the ceiling and far wall have caved in; there’s dirt everywhere; and while a few glittering bits of gold and metal hide under the decay, most everything is rotting or completely gone. The bookshelf which held his father’s favorite novels has collapsed into a pile of mush on the ground. The family portraits that once adorned the wall are torn to shreds, the pigment barely legible.

And in the middle of it all, Ardyn stands, looking positively thrilled. He’s grinning like a cat, his expression full of mirth.

Noctis screams in fury, summons the engine blade, and charges him. Ardyn easily evades. He cuts through the air again, snarling when Ardyn dodges, looking remarkably calm. The bastard hasn’t even summoned a weapon yet.

“Come on, fight me, you son of a bitch!” Another strike, another dodge. Noctis forces himself to calm down and circle back. Gladio’s voice in the back of his mind tells him not to lose control, to stay calm and read his enemy. To strategize.

“Now, what would be the point in that?” Ardyn drawls. “After all, we gain nothing from further bloodshed. Killing me won’t bring them back, you know.”

“What did you do to them?” Noctis hisses, tightening his grip on the hilt.

“‘Them’?” Noctis doesn’t rise to the tease. Ardyn snickers. “Your retainers are gone, Your Majesty. And what a shame, too—I so would have liked to kill you with them watching.”

Gone. The confirmation of what he’s feared all along makes Noctis’s mind go blank. They’re _gone._

He screams, forgets about being cautious, and charges again.

This time, Ardyn doesn’t dodge. He turns Noctis’s strike into a ploy to disarm him and drive him into the ground. Noctis thrashes in Ardyn’s grip, trying to throw him off. Ardyn responds by shoving his face into the dirt. “Come now. This is hardly regal behavior.”

“That’s a riot, coming from you,” Noctis spits. Dirt gets into his mouth, but he can’t find it within himself to care. It feels like the last bit of his heart that remained, the part that wasn’t scraped out alongside his father and Luna, has burned away, leaving behind a void in his chest. A spark of fire magic crackles around his fingertips. “I’m going to end this. Now.”

“But don’t you want to hear how it happened?” Ardyn asks, jumping back to avoid the inferno. Noctis grunts as the flames lick over his arm. He ignores the pain in favor of drawing out a thunder spell. This is no time for passivity, for sitting on his ass, frozen in fear. Not anymore.

The thunder spell crashes across the walls; a few ceiling supports crumble and fall around them. Ardyn snickers as he fades in and out of shadow, dodging the falling debris. “Well? Not interested?”

“Shut it. I don’t care about what a murderer has to say.” This time, he tries for ice. The satisfaction at seeing Ardyn’s legs and feet encased in it, trapping him there, is a hollow victory.

Noctis thinks he must be losing time, blinking in and out of existence. It could be the exhaustion, or even the grief. He isn’t sure. All he knows is that one moment he’s glaring at Ardyn with more hate than he’s ever felt before in his life, and the next he’s burying the engine blade in his chest.

Ardyn doesn’t even have the decency to look pained, damn him. He laughs as blood bubbles up in his throat. Noctis twists the sword just to hear him gasp.

“I’m afraid that won’t work, Your Majesty,” Ardyn says. “You’ll have to strike me down with the weapons of your ancestors to truly destroy me.”

“Done,” Noctis snarls, holding out his free hand. The Armiger alights around him, twinkling swords of ethereal blue and purple. The Sword of the Father spins in front of him languidly. Noctis doesn’t feel anything at all.

“Ah, but before that.” Noctis flicks his wrist, aiming the weapons. His fingers are shaking around the hilt of the engine blade. “I thought you might like to know—Ignis made it the longest.” An angry noise rises in Noctis’s throat. The Sword of the Tall strikes Ardyn in the shoulder; this time, he actually grunts in pain. “Never married, nor had children. Prompto and Gladiolus, on the other hand—what a brood they had between them! Such darling things. And their grandchildren were quite the angels, too. The youngest of the bunch looked _just_ like Clarus. Remarkable how genetics work, hm?”

Noctis knows he should ignore Ardyn’s words, should resist the poison the man is trying to feed him, the lies he’s weaving, but the speech is so candid and genuine it has him faltering. The void begins to shudder with fresh pain, blood oozing out of his invisible wounds. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Forgive me. I simply thought you’d like to know.” Ardyn’s voice is strangely hollow. “How your friends got on without you, that is.”

“But...” Horrified realization spreads through Noctis’s body. Gooseflesh rises on his arms. His empty stomach turns itself into knots. “It was only a few months, wasn’t it? How long… how long was I asleep?”

The look in Ardyn’s eyes is almost pitying. Almost. “A century. Give or take a few years.” He sighs. “I’m afraid the world didn’t last very long. That grandchild I mentioned scarcely lived to be three. Such a cruel fate, isn’t it?”

“No.” The Armiger collapses. Ringing splits Noctis’s ears as he stumbles back. Blood gushes out of Ardyn’s chest as the engine blade fades away. “There’s no way. I wouldn’t have needed that long. Bahamut wouldn’t have let me…”

“But he did, and so did you,” Ardyn says. “And what do you know! You’ve arrived at such a _wonderful_ time.” He smiles pleasantly. It’s the expression Noctis imagined was on his face when he proposed the treaty; the smile of a cat who knows the mouse trapped between its claws can’t escape. “It’s August 30th. Happy birthday, Noct.”

<><><>

In the past, before the fall, birthdays meant his father's messy attempts at baking a cake, stuffy parties with weird food, and late nights at his apartment with his friends. After, his birthday was celebrated in a dingy rest stop motel, where Ignis presented him with the best chocolate chip cookies he could make with minimal funds, and Prompto and Gladio gave him a crown made of flowers.

On August 30th, M.E. 856, Noctis Lucis Caelum celebrates his birthday by sobbing until he dry heaves, cursing the gods until his voice gives out, and stabbing shadows until he collapses. Only then does Ardyn become tangible, threading his fingers through Noctis’s hair. He closes his eyes and curls into it, pretending those are his father’s hands. He’s never felt more disgusted with himself.

He’s never felt more lost.

<><><>

The next several weeks are spent in a daze. He wanders through what remains of the Citadel, trying to make sense of everything. Most of his time is spent in the Hall of History, staring at the glorious paintings of the Astrals, of the Oracle, and of the Chosen King. These, Ardyn has kept in perfect condition; the gold paint makes the prophecy look like a wondrous thing, a great honor bestowed by benevolent gods. The sight makes his stomach turn.

He avoids the throne room altogether. Noctis isn’t sure he ever wants to see that wretched chair ever again. Lucis has long been a pious nation, following Bahamut’s lead for two millenia. And what has that loyalty, that devotion, gotten them? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Their kingdom, wrecked by a godless empire, their people, slaughtered by daemons. Their King, sequestered away by a selfish deity. The hatred and blame cycles back and forth, swinging between Bahamut and himself. Some days Noctis screams at the Crystal, now returned to its proper place in the Citadel’s crypt. Others, he spends tearing out his own hair and holding blades to his throat.

Whether it’s Bahamut’s interference or his own weakness, he doesn’t know, but without fail the weapons fall away and Noctis is left collapsed on the tile, still living, with Ardyn leaning against the wall nearby. Watching him.

Always watching him.

Noctis doesn’t bother saying anything before he leaves the Citadel. He visits the monuments build in respect to the Kings of Yore first. The obsidian pillars that once made Noctis twinge in discomfort whenever he passed them have been reduced to rubble, their names obscured by erosion and sand.

He wishes Ignis was here right now, to tell him what he should do. He wishes Prompto could shove a phone in his face and insist he watch some cute video about chocobos. He wishes Gladio could ruffle his hair and tell him to pull himself together.

He wishes there was anything other than this endless silence.

No matter where he goes, he always finds the same things; ruins, sand, and rot. It seems the plant life that managed to survive the initial few years of the sun’s absence was petrified by the scourge, keeping its form alive as a sick trophy of the destruction it wrought. After several sleepless nights spent looking for even the foundation of a building to rest in, Noctis gives up and starts dropping wherever he is once the exhaustion sets in. It never makes a difference where he sleeps. There are no daemons or varmints to be wary of. There are no soft beds to be found in the shambles of old high class Insomnian motels. He can’t even climb into his old apartment for comfort; the entire building has been destroyed.

It’s just him, the ruins of the world, and Ardyn.

<><><>

Eventually, Noctis decides to leave the city. Ardyn follows him at a distance, sauntering along like he hasn’t a care in the world. Noctis resolves to ignoring him. It might be easier to just summon the Armiger, strike him down and end all this, but Noctis isn’t particularly fond of the idea at the moment. The entire point of the prophecy was to save Eos from the scourge, but now there’s nothing left to save. Ardyn even cheerfully informed him that, with nothing else to infect and bolster their numbers, the daemons died off. The only scourge left is in Ardyn’s own body, and Noctis isn’t motivated to cleanse him just yet.

His hatred for Bahamut and himself is so great, there’s little left for Ardyn. The more he thinks about it, the more he sees Ardyn’s actions as a reflection of Bahamut, enacting his violent, bloodthirsty will in the land of mortals. In a way, Ardyn is just a puppet of the gods, as sad and pathetic as Noctis himself.

He decides to head straight for Lestallum, to see if it’s the same as Insomnia. The walking takes an incredibly long time, but Noctis doesn’t mind it anymore. It's the only thing to do in this dead world. Ardyn trails behind him the entire way. Sometimes he gets too close, and Noctis fires a warning shot into his head. Other times, he hangs to far back, and Noctis can't help but nervously wait for him to appear again before he continues walking.

When they finally get to Lestallum, they find a skeleton city. The architecture of a once bustling metropolitan area is there, but it lacks the people, noise, and color. It seems that this was a bastion of defense against the daemons—there are large, broken flood lights lining the city’s streets. A sort of shantytown exists on the perimeter, occupied by the torn remains of tents. The sight reminds Noctis that he really should scrounge up a few things; clothes to replace his filthy, sweaty fatigues, and a blanket to sleep on. Rustling through the shantytown leaves Noctis with the uneasy feeling that he’s disturbing a graveyard, stealing from the dead. He tries to justify it to himself by saying he could use the stuff. These people can't.

When he stumbles across a mass grave, white skeletons clustered together and buried haphazardly in the dirt, it's hard to resist the urge to dump his plunder into the pit and scream. Ardyn stands at his side, chucking.

He decides to get as far away from the graves as he can before settling down. This entire land feels cursed, haunted with the hopes and dreams of his people. Noctis wonders if they were waiting for him to return. To save them from this. He wonders if they hated him when he never arrived.

It’s too much. He flips the blanket off of himself and yells, “hey.”

Ardyn pops out from behind a building. “Something you need, Your Majesty?”

“Get over here. It’s cold.” Noctis pats the ground next to him when Ardyn doesn’t move. “Come on, asshole. Or does a scourge-sack like you not need sleep?”

“I can do with a bit of shut-eye, from time to time,” Ardyn says suspiciously. He’s looking at Noctis with narrow eyes, but at least he’s coming closer. Noctis squirms. “Tell me, dear Noct, do you intend on killing me in my sleep?”

“Would you even care?” Noctis grabs Ardyn’s wrist and yanks him down. The Accursed lands with a grunt, and Noctis wastes no time at all in burying his face in Ardyn’s chest.

He’s cold. So cold. Noctis presses closer.

“‘Tis not quite as dramatic as I envisioned.” Ardyn’s voice is so deep, it rumbles through Noctis’s bones. It almost reminds him of Gladio, of how Noctis used to maneuver himself between his shield’s arms as he slept. “I always dreamt of a valiant battle in the skies, perhaps as my brother’s precious city burned… Ah, and with your loved ones’ corpses at our feet, naturally.”

“You’re sick,” Noctis huffs. “I hate you.”

“An interesting statement, given the situation.”

Noctis bites back a sob. “I hate you.”

Ardyn is cold, but at least Noctis feels a little less lonely as he sleeps.

<><><>

The next morning, he’s still alive. Ardyn hasn’t killed him in his sleep. Bahamut hasn’t smited the both of them for… for whatever this is. Fraternizing with the enemy. Being friendly with the devil.

Noctis wants to kill himself, though. He’s so disgusted with his own weakness, his willingness to snuggle up with the man who murdered his fiancée, that he throws up bile the second he’s conscious.

Ardyn looks down at his soiled vest with a grimace. “How pleasant.”

Noctis glares at him, wipes his mouth with Ardyn’s stupid orange scarf, and leaves. He vows never to be so weak again.

<><><>

One week later, on the way south to Ravatogh, he caves and invites Ardyn to climb under the blanket with him. It’s the best sleep he’s had in ages.

<><><>

They turn east after reaching the mountain. As they walk away, a sharp pain burns through Noctis’s head. He glances up and sees smoldering horns peeking over the top of the volcano. Ardyn laughs.

When the pain settles, Noctis rises, and walks tall.

He doesn’t know why he bothers anymore. He’s abandoned the people he loves in every way, has failed to meet every one of his father’s expectations. There’s no point in acting like a king anymore.

He says as much, when Ardyn calls him _your majesty_ once again. The man snickers. “You would reject the title your ancestor fought so feverishly for? You would disgrace the blood that taints its jewels?”

“Last time I checked, _yours_ is the only blood tainting it. And I have no problem disgracing you.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ardyn chides. “The ancestor of your beloved Lunafreya was also slain in the battle for the throne. You would reject it, and make her death meaningless? How cruel!”

Luna’s name makes his heart ache. Noctis glances at Ardyn warily; he’s surprised to find an expression that mirrors his own in those gold eyes. Forlorn and miserable. Bereft of all the things that were once precious.

“Was she your wife?” he asks plainly.

Ardyn seems surprised. “My fiancée, if you must know.”

Cold realization dawns in Noctis’s mind. “That’s why you arranged the marriage. And why you killed Luna. It wasn’t to shade the world in darkness, was it? It was just so you could roleplay some sick revenge fantasy.”

“It’s hardly roleplay if I succeeded,” Ardyn says.

“Well, you didn’t,” Noctis snaps. “You wanted revenge on your brother, but he beat you. So you had to settle for me.”

They don’t talk the rest of the way to the bridge that spans Taelpar Craig. Its supports rise up into the fog, black on gray. Noctis thinks of the bridge like a bandaid, trying to hold together the wound inflicted on Lucis by the gods. It isn’t doing much. Taelpar Craig is still hollow.

The emptiness is back again. Noctis settles down in his blanket and waves Ardyn over.

“I’m half tempted to slit your throat as you sleep.” Ardyn’s voice is calm, but his expression betrays his simmering anger. Thick lines of scourge track down his face, dripping onto the ground. His eyes are so bright they look like egg yolk, pure yellow-orange, swimming in pools of blackness.

Noctis thinks, apathetically, that they’re kind of beautiful.

“Kill me if you want. I don’t care,” he says. “I’m cold.”

This night, Noctis doesn’t pretend Ardyn is Gladio, or Ignis, or Prompto or his father or anyone else. He pretends Ardyn is Luna, sweet, precious Luna, with her softness and grace and quiet bravery and beautiful, perfect soul. Noctis cuddles closer, and sleeps soundly for the first time in ages.

<><><>

They talk more, after that, but never about the old days. Instead they talk about nothing; they discuss the weather, ancient fairy tales, the TV show Noctis was obsessed with in high school, the strange hooved mounts that were replaced by chocobos sometime after Ardyn was imprisoned.

It’s weird. And wrong. Slowly, Noctis begins to _like_ Ardyn. He finds an appreciation for his wit, his bluntness. Ardyn even makes him laugh, sometimes. One day, Ardyn nearly trips, and Noctis grabs his hand to steady him. Even after the danger is averted, he doesn’t let go.

After that, Noctis isn’t sure he’s still brave enough to die. He can’t face Luna in the beyond, having befriended her murderer. Even if she could excuse him for everything else he’s done, this betrayal is unforgivable.

<><><>

They make it to Cape Caem before everything comes crashing down. Noctis can’t bear to look at the crumbling house that used to belong to his father, so he goes to the lighthouse. It’s surprisingly intact, and with a start Noctis realizes the light is working. He turns to Ardyn, not expecting an answer, but still hoping for one.

Ardyn delivers. “The light is powered by a specially refined meteor shard. It’s capable of continuing to function on its own for, oh, another hundred years, give or take.”

The light is blinding. Noctis squints. “Let’s go down below.”

“As you wish.”

At the old pier, he finds an intact fishing rod and a box of lures. Ardyn watches passively as he attaches the bait and casts the line. There isn’t really a point, given that there are no fish in the sea, but it brings a sense of comfort he sorely needs. Noctis stands idly on the pier, reeling in and recasting the line.

Ardyn must bore of the repetitive gesture, because he joins Noctis on the pier thirty minutes later. “How did you ever manage to catch anything back in the good ol’ days?” he asks. “Surely that advisor of yours wouldn’t have allowed you to fish _all_ day. He didn’t seem like the type to waste such precious time.”

“He just wanted me to be happy.” Noctis’s hands fall to his sides. The line trails listlessly through the waves. “He always wanted me to be happy.”

“Oh, dear heart,” Ardyn coos. “How much you’ve lost.”

Noctis sits on the edge of the pier, his feet brushing against the waves. Ardyn watches him with his signature smirk, condescending and bitter. That expression used to make Noctis furious, used to ignite a burning hate in his soul. Now it just makes him smile in return.

“It’s all your fault,” Noctis says.

“No,” Ardyn replies plainly. “We both know where the blame lies, and it’s not with me.”

He doesn’t know why the tears choose that moment to come. Suddenly they’re bubbling up, falling down his cheeks while his lip trembles. It’s a different kind of crying than what he did in Insomnia; these are tears of pure despair, shed only because there’s nothing left for him to do. “Yeah. It’s my fault. All of it.”

There’s something odd in Ardyn’s expression. It’s more candid than Noctis has ever seen. “You look so much like him. Even more so now that you’ve grown up a bit.”

“It’s all my fault!” Noctis sobs, and Ardyn pulls him in close.

“Why not kill me?” he asks as Noctis openly sobs. “Get revenge for your lost loved ones?”

“It wouldn’t change any of this,” Noctis spits. “Eos is dead, and it’ll stay dead, no matter what I do.”

“You could see them again, in the beyond.”

Noctis wipes the back of his hand across his nose. “They’ll be so ashamed. And disappointed. And I…”

Ardyn pushes him away, holding him at arms length. His face is split in a grimace. “And you?”

“I don’t deserve to see them again,” Noctis whispers. “I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Ardyn says nothing. He gets up and leaves, abandoning Noctis to sob and scream on the pier. He shakes and shakes and curses himself. He’d thought he was handling it better. Thought he was getting over it. Thought he was making peace with fate.

But he’d just been kidding himself, all along.

<><><>

The next day, Ardyn presents him with a sword.

Noctis stares at it blearily. The massive blade is nearly as large as Gladio’s broadsword had been, and the metal is stained blood red. “What’s that?”

“Rakshasa,” Ardyn says simply. “It’s the twin sword to your Blade of the Mystic.”

“Good for it,” Noctis mutters.

“I want you to place this in your Armiger.”

Noctis sighs. He wipes at his eyes, hoping the uncomfortable puffiness will go away soon. “Cool. Why?”

“To kill me,” Ardyn says simply, and Noctis’s eyes snap up to his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks warily. Scourge drips down Ardyn’s face, catching in the pristine ruffled collar of his shirt. It stains the white fabric black. “Ardyn, I told you. can’t—”

“I don’t give a damn what you think you can or cannot do,” Ardyn barks. His voice cuts like a knife. Noctis takes a step back, his face scrunched up in renewed anger. “I’m tired of playing this little game, Chosen King. I have waited in darkness for ages. You think you know loneliness, you sniveling little whelp? You think you know hopelessness? You cannot fathom what I have endured!” He throws the sword at Noctis’s chest. Rakshasa explodes in a flurry of red crystal, and the weapons of the Lucis Caelum line alight around Noctis, responding to the arrival of their newest companion with bloodthirsty excitement. “And now, you’re going to give me what was promised, what I have yearned for, whether you like it or not.”

Noctis’s fingers shake. “You’d just give into Bahamut’s plan, just like that? You’d let him win?”

 _“He’s already won!”_ The scourge pools on the ground beneath Ardyn’s feet. It licks at the petrified grass and moss littering the stone, withering and returning to the safety of Ardyn’s shadow when it fails to find anything living to infect. The sight strikes Noctis as sad, and suddenly, he thinks he understands. “The Sword God Bahamut does not lose, little king. He will allow us to waste away here for ages if need be, and I have done quite enough waiting, so—”

“You’re not worried about yourself at all,” Noctis says. He’s so, so tired. “You just don’t want me to end up like you.”

Ardyn’s silence is answer enough.

Noctis steps forward. He lays a small kiss on Ardyn’s lips, chaste and sweet. A final goodbye. “I’ll find you again, in the beyond. I promise.”

Ardyn closes his eyes. “I look forward to it.”

He backs away, levels his blades, and fulfills his destiny.

<><><>

A short while later, surrounded by shards of crystal and familiar faces, Noctis wakes up.

Ardyn does not.


End file.
